


tell me about despair, yours (and i will tell you mine)

by EtuBrutus



Category: Cemetery Boys - Aiden Thomas
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, I could not accept the lack of cemetery boys fic and so I made it my life's goal to solve this issue, Luca is actually an angel, M/M, Post-Canon, Rio Diaz is Batman, Tags will be updated, The Squad, Trans Character, ahhh get ready for the angst and fluff, be warned for future chapters, because he adopts every goddamn kid Julian brings over, shovel talks lmao, the cemetery bois, there's... much pain, tm - Freeform, will yadriel be one of them? whO kNOwS, yadriel deals with the shit that happened in the book, yadriel my son
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 07:08:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26967994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtuBrutus/pseuds/EtuBrutus
Summary: And then Luca says, "So, are you and Julian are a thing now?"It's so sudden that you almost choke. "What?""Like, you know, a couple."or, yadriel gets the shovel talk, post-canon. (many, many times.)
Relationships: Julian Diaz/Yadriel Vélez Flores, Yadriel Vélez Flores & Luca Garcia, Yadriel Vélez Flores & Maritza Selena Escabas Santima
Comments: 27
Kudos: 74





	1. Chapter 1

Whenever you look back at those five days, you try, in equal measures, to remember and forget everything about them.

Some memories, you know you'll keep. Like dad saying, _'mi hijo,'_ and mom - _Camila_ \- holding you after a year, her skin golden and barely even cold, the embrace as familiar as your hands and lungs. Like Julian, when they'd gone to that ridiculous party on the beach, when he'd still been a spirit, loud and laughing and invisible, and you'd had a _holy shit_ moment when you'd wanted the moment to go on forever - and later, when you'd talked and looked at old pictures and tried to hold him, which hadn't actually worked.

Even before that, you remember meeting Julian for the first time in an old church, the first _real_ time, because you'd seen him in the halls in school before, but never like this. You'd never seen his face up close, his strong brow and sharp grin and brown eyes as bright as marigolds, but in that moment, you'd seen the spitfire of a boy in front of you, translucent, rendering you speechless.

Yes, those are the good memories. 

There are others that you don't know what to do with, like walking into the underpass of an old train station and finding yourself unwelcome (a familiar feeling) not knowing you were a threat to Julian's family until you saw Rocky and Flaca huddled together, Omar in front of Luca, a group of lost spirits searching for their friend. You'd tried to help, Julian had been _right there_ with you, but you were already intruding, and he'd trusted you not to give him away.

You hadn't. You never would.

You're lying on your back on your messy bed, covers pulled up to your chin (there's nobody else in the room, but it's a habit.) The window's light makes thin rectangles of blue across your room, and it's just dark enough that the only think you can focus on now are your thoughts.

That's when the memories you never want to touch bubble up to the surface.

Climbing through dark waters, like the shadow of Bahlam had done, and spilling over the edge.

The Jaguar god had dragged tío Catriz - _just Catriz,_ now - down to Xibalba. That's the only place he could have gone where you'd never see him again. He won't be around during Día De Muertos, his spirit is _gone,_ trapped in what you know as eternal torture, and there won't be any yearly visits where you can demand answers from him.

(you're never going to be able to ask _why, why'd you do it, was i not enough -_ )

It hurts more for you than it seems to for everyone else. It's difficult to not be angry at that, but the alternative is more thinking, which is equally as bad. 

Your eyes move to look at the soft lines of light coming through the window - there's not much sound, not here inside the cemetery, when all the 2AM walkers are at the city's centre, and traffic is nonexistent. You remember moments like these with - Catriz, where you'd both sit in silence, and it had always been comfortable.

Are you supposed to miss him?

(Because you _do,_ you miss your tío like the walls of your house, a safe and stable harbour that welcomed you no matter what Dad had thought. Losing him made you feel exposed, raw, vulnerable, like you'd been stuck outside in the cold all night, but the walls of your home were gone and you didn't know how to warm up again. It's... impossible to pretend that you don't miss him. You can't expect yourself not to.)

But when you close your eyes, you see things.

Julian's eyes, unblinking, warmth lost, dead _for real,_ with Catriz's dagger bleeding his torso dry, and that reminds you of - of Camila, on the side of the road, with the same eyes, and the spike of ice-cold pain in your gut as you felt her heart stop, and _god,_ you hate your tío in that moment. For using death like that, when you'd already lost someone you loved. Once you open your eyes, you always have the the crawling need to check on Dad and Diego, to make sure that they're still breathing, to wake them up to make sure they _can_.

But it's irrational. Catriz is gone, and you are here, and thinking about things that happened months ago in the middle of a school-night isn't doing anyone any good. 

There's a shift in the bedsheets near your shoulders, and Purrcaso's shaking off the comforter, yawning with all her teeth. She moves toward your torso and, having climbed her way on top of your chest, stretches out like you're a sunbed and yawns again.

(you know she's going to roll off after a few hours, and yowl loud and pitifully enough to wake up half the house. whatever. nature ought to run its course, that's one of the brujx idioms.)

You close your eyes, ignore the light, and try to sleep. Sleep.

_Sleep._

And of course you can't get to sleep, because you're still so strung out over _nothing,_ there's no danger here and it's completely safe (and Catriz isn't here, which is both a good and bad thing) and you shouldn't be _doing this._ God, it's not like your body does what you want it to half the time, and now even you _mind_ is rebelling against you. 

You hate being stuck in your head on nights like these. Rubbing a hand over your eyes, you sigh quietly, and do the only thing you can.

**You (03:08):**

**hey**

_Jules (03:10):_

_Hey! what r u doing awake? school??_

**You (03:11):**

**idk couldn’t sleep**

**u know**

_Jules (03:14):_

_Is it 'can’t sleep because im nervous abt school' or 'can’t sleep because ill have bad dreams if I do'_

**You (03:15):**

**idk**

**the second one?**

**nvm what are you doing**

_Jules (03:19):_

_No, your changing the topic!_

_Are you thinking about the bad week?_

_Catriz?_

  
**You (03:20):**

**no**

**okay fine, a bit**

**but whatever, forget abt it**   
  


_Jules (03:23):_

_Are you sure? I can call you_

_Or you can sneak out, we’re all awake now anyway_

**You (03:24):**

**it’s fine, school, like u said**

**but thanks**

**tell luca i said hi**

_Jules (03:27):_

_Okay_

_I just did and Luca says hi as well_

_So does Flaca_

_Did you tell anyone else about the dreams?_

  
  


**You (03:28):**

**no**

**it’s fine i don’t need to**

**let’s just not talk about it**

  
  


_Jules (03:30):_

_You sure??_

**You (03:31):**

**yeah**

**man u type so slowly**

_Jules (03:33):_

_No this is normal typing youre just a ninja with superspeed_

**You (03:34):**

**nah diaz ur just a grandma who has to search the entire keyboard for a single letter**

_Jules (03:39):_

_Yads,,, i thought you loved me_

_also no i call bullshit because only you and maritza do this_

_Its the secrets of the brujx,,, super fast typing_

_One day someone’s gonna figure you guys out_

_And then i’ll have to bail you out of prison_

**You (03:40):**

**will u bring me tacos in prison babe**

_Jules (03:42):_

_I would bring you all of the King Taco outlets in LA my love, the light of my life ;)_

****  
  


You do fall asleep, eventually.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we meet other characters! (also, posted a day early! who'd have thought the day would come.) enjoy!

You don't actually hate school. On a good day, if pressed, you'd probably admit to liking it. 

And it's _not_ because of the students, hell no. The students are the worst part. It's just that you're... good at it. Not that you're outrageously intelligent, but it's easy for you to remember things, which gets the school system to think of you as a genius, since exams aren't difficult, and that matters more to them than anything else. 

Math _is_ annoying, yeah, but you're decent at it. Spanish and English are no-brainers, and while history and science are weird (since they leave _everything_ remotely brujx related out of the syllabus) they're easy to get by in. You used to love soccer and track, until you came out as trans and suddenly every activity involving a change of clothes became impossible. Overall, the requirements for 'school' are easy to meet, so you're fine with attending. 

And there's also the fact that, at school, you're anonymous. (Not quite, since most people know you're trans and they've _always_ avoided _'yadriel, the kid from the cemetery,'_ but you've been attending the same institution since pre-K, you're used to most of that stuff by now.)

At school, you're not 'the _new_ brujo who came back from the dead,' or Enrique's second son, _or_ Diego's queer brother (who _used_ to be his sister, but you know how kids are these days.) You love your community, the brujx, but their closeness gets cloying sometimes, and it's gotten more suffocating since the aquellare. 

At school, if you pretend to be invisible, and let everyone avoid you, it feels like you're anonymous, just another tired teenager in a black hoodie. Maritza's company is enough (and Julian's, too, on the rare occasions he comes to class.)

You always hang out with Maritza between classes, chatting and laughing. But today, you ditch her at lunch, so she can sit with Patrice and the other soccer girls. Maritza always wants you there, because she's your _prima_ and also your best friend, but the girls at the table act weird around you, and everyone deserves some time away from their family. 

(plus, you know she's got a _huge_ crush on Patrice, you've seen her face light up when texting the girl, so this counts as being a good wingman.)

There's an empty table at the opposite end of the cafeteria, so you make the situation easier by putting your tray down there and resigning yourself to a quiet lunch. The food's not _gross,_ but you've eater far, _far_ better (you've got to eat regardless - brujx metabolism burns through energy stupidly fast, something you'd learnt with Julian at King Taco - and despite the late breakfast you had, you're famished.)

Nowadays, you don't pull up your hood with headphones in as much - other students don't make you nervous anymore, so there's no need to hide yourself away. Instead, you pull up the history textbook from your bag onto the table and go through the 'Cold-War' chapter again, while shoving Mac-And-Probably-Cheese down your throat. It's about the Cuban Missile Crisis, and how world leaders back in the seventies were apparently more irrational than hormonal teenagers.

You _really_ don't expect anyone to put their tray down in front of you, but someone does. (It's not Maritza - you can sense her a few tables away, probably flirting.) When you look up, you see Julian's floofy-haired friend shifting on his feet.

"Luca," you say, slowly. "Hi."

"Hey," he waves awkwardly, with a nervous smile. "...What's up?"

He seems... you can't name it - worried, maybe? Something about the tension in his arms and the stiff set off his shoulders. You've seen Luca in the halls in passing, but he mostly ditches school (with Julian and his friends.) You don't know too much apart from what Jules told you - that Luca had been involved with a gang during his freshman year, how Rio had gotten him out, and you've seen the scarred scalp tissue under the kid's hair yourself. 

(one thing you do note is that luca is actually _shorter_ than you, which automatically improves you opinion of him. his hair makes up for it, giving him about three inches of height anyway, but, you know, beggars can't be choosers.)

You try to look friendly, anyway. "Nothing much. Just reading for class."

Luca's eyes widen. "During _lunch?_ " Looking over and finally noticing your textbook, he mumbles something incredulous along the lines of, ' _Julian says - smart - believe_ ,' before he catches himself and moves to sit down.

"Yeah, during lunch," you reply, "Nothing better to do."

"Oh." He nods quickly, and then looks down at the tray, shoulders hunched up, hands fidgeting. 

You make a note of the page number, and slide the textbook back into your bag. Look back up at Luca. The kid looks jittery, and now _you're_ starting to get worried. "Hey, you okay?"

He glances up, wide-eyed, "What? Yeah, I'm fine. Uh, I just..." he glances away, shoulder at his ears now, "I can leave? If you want. To, uh, eat alone, or..."

"No, it's fine," you say automatically, before realising that, _oh_ _shit,_ he's nervous because of _you._ "Seriously, it's fine. Sorry if I sound... rude, or whatever. Just had a late night." 

"Oh," Luca says again. His shoulders relax, and you try smiling at him. You're not sure how to make conversation during lunch - the only people you've eaten here with are Maritza (and Julian, when he was still a _spirit_.) 

You cringe inwardly the moment you ask, "How are classes?" but hey, Luca chose to sit here, so.

"Okay, I guess," he pokes at his food forlornly. "I...I have Mrs. Abbott for maths this year, and it _sucks."_

"Oh, yeah, I was in her class last year. She's definitely... I mean, she's pretty eccentric, right?"

Luca snorts, " _Right -_ I don't get _any_ of what she says! It's like... listening to stuff in a different language. God, it _sucks,_ I bet I'm going to fail her class."

"Nah, you won't," you say, without knowing that for sure, it could be a lie, but Luca knows that and so do you, so it slides. He hums noncommittally, and you both eat in silence. 

"Yadriel," Luca says after a while, confusedly, "People are staring at our table."

You huff a laugh, "Tell me something new, it comes with the whole 'sitting with Yadriel' thing." Thier stares slide off you at this point, you've gotten used to them, but Luca hasn't. "Don't worry, they won't come over or do anything, it's fine."

"It's still pretty _rude,_ " Luca mutters, annoyed. He probably knows about the trans thing, but that's really only one of the reasons people stare. It's also the fact that you look like an emo freshman, and live in the cemetery, _and_ had an 'imaginary friend' throughout first grade (who was actually a spirit, and in your defence you didn't _know,_ so it shouldn't even _be_ a thing) but you can't help finding this funny, because he acts so much like Julian that you'd have pegged them for brothers if you hadn't known better. 

Which brings you to the question you wanted to ask. "I thought you'd be ditching school with Julian and the others today?"

When Luca's eyes immediately widen in panic, you rush to explain, "Not that I'm judging, I'm just curious. I don't see you guys around at school much." You hadn't even known they'd shared a lunch period with you until now.

Luca grimaces a smile, concentrating on the table, "I know, I get it. The others aren't here today... or most days, I guess. It's just... Rio wants me to come to school, and I need to catch up with classes, and normally I _hate_ it here because people avoid me, or talk about me, but Julian..."

You raise your eyebrows as he trails off. "Julian... what?"

"Just - he said you'd be here? We were all awake at, like, three, and he said you were going to school most days, and that you wouldn't mind me hanging around and stuff, and... yeah."

"Oh." 

It sends warmth down your spine, that Julian talks about you with his friends (family) with so much faith in you, his conviction that you're a good person like a lifeboat that stops you from drowning into other thoughts. 

"Well," you say, "Julian's completely right. You know you can talk to me any time, right? Maritza, too."

Luca visibly relaxes, and you're glad you said it out loud, because he seems like a person who needs to hear things to really believe them. 

(A memory comes to you, suddenly. Of him saying, _Jules is a ghost, right? that's what happened back there,_ and unravelling half of the mystery without knowing he was doing it. It's not your first thought, but you do consider that having Luca as an ally would be less dangerous than the alternatives, even if he doesn't know it yet.)

The boy says, "Cool." It's quiet, but you can sense that it means a lot to him, from the way the worry lessens from his skin. You smile, again, but the tiredness must still show up on your face, and you've got a _headache,_ because you barely slept last night. You try shaking the feeling off, but it hardly works.

The two of you spend the rest of lunch period in mostly silence. That is, until Luca picks up his plate and blurts out, "So, you and Julian are a thing now?"

It's so sudden that you almost choke. "What?"

"Like, you know, a couple." He rolls on the balls of his feet, and you can swear he's trying not to grin. 

"Uh."

"I mean, we all saw you declare your love for each other and make out at the hospital, but was that real? Was it... the adrenaline or something? Are you guys a _thing_ now?"

You regain your composure, remembering that Luca is _fifteen,_ and that it's natural for sophomores to be this immature. "Yes, I... we're a _thing,_ Luca." He nods seriously, as though debating what he's going to say next. You feel like you know what's going on here, and try not to grin as you pick up your tray. "Why are you asking?"

"Oh, you know."

You raise an eyebrow. 

Luca rubs the back of his neck. "Well... Julian talks a lot about you, I guess - like, a _lot_ a lot, and the rest of us never really spoke to you before? Except for that one time, with your dogs, which was... awkward. But anyway, we've heard Jules talk about you, but we don't know about how... _you..._ talk about him." He finishes painfully.

When you don't respond, he adds, "Just to make sure, you know?"

"Right, right," you say. "So, this is me getting the shovel talk."

"What? _No!_ " He thinks for a moment. "I mean, maybe?"

You snort, and really, you _do_ try not to laugh, but you've got a headache and your self-control levels are low today already. Soon, your shoulders are shaking and you're half keeled over, laughing silently. 

"I just wanted to make sure, you know? Julian always... cares a lot about people, and sometimes they don't always return that care, and - stop laughing!"

"Alright," you say, failing to stop laughing. The two of you are near the cafeteria doors when you feel Maritza sidle up next to you. She glances over at Luca, surprised, but there's a buzz of excitement coming from her that hopefully means her time with Patrice went well. 

Luca's still covering his face when Maritza turns to you. "Thanks for ditching me at lunch today, _asshole,_ " After shoving your shoulder, she turns to Luca with a smile. "Hey, Luca!" 

"Hi," he waves hesitantly. 

You can tell that he's going to warm up to her soon - Maritza's a trustable person, she exudes confidence and warmth like a bonfire, drawing people in and making them feel welcome. She's also a great liar, her bluster making it so nobody ever figures her out. You've known her all your life, and so it's easy to see when she's smiling at someone because she _likes_ them, or when she's smiling at someone like a shark, waiting to draw first blood. 

You're glad that she and Luca get along. She shoves her hands into the pockets of her jeans, pink hair almost as curly as Luca's. "What are you guys talking about?"

"Nothing much," Luca tries. 

She raises her eyebrows at him. (It occurs to you that you both have the same expressions, despite looking different, the tells that peg you both as cousins are clear as day.)

Luca shifts, before mumbling, "I was asking Yadriel about his... thing with Julian."

"Oh, really?" She's full on grinning, and you expect her to be on your side when you say, "Luca was giving me the shovel talk."

Luca's head is in his hands, embarrassed, but then Maritza betrays you by laughing loudly and clapping him on the back. "Man, Luca, you have _nothing_ to worry about, I mean, Yads talks about his boyfriend _all the time -_ "

You realise that they've ganged up on you a moment too late. "Hey, wait a minute -"

"It's like, I can't go a _day_ without him making heart-eyes at his phone, or sighing at their selfies, or talking about how Julian's face is a more beautiful version of the _David,_ or -"

"That does not happen!"

Luca's lit up, smiling like a puppy now, his frame relaxed, and he's more comfortable than before, you can barely feel the worry on his skin anymore.

"It's the same with Jules!" he laughs, "It's always, ' _Yadriel's hair,'_ or ' _Mira, his smile,'_ or ' _I wish I was his black hoodie so I could be with him all the time,'_ and he's always grinning like a newlywed whenever they're on the phone."

They turn to see your expression, mouth hanging open, and it makes them laugh even louder, clutching at their stomachs and wiping their eyes. It's... nice, feeling the joy and comfort radiating off their skin, it's better than how Luca was before, alone in the cold crevices of his worry, and you start laughing, too. 

Maybe you do like school more than before, now. You've got two people to talk to. 

**You (14:28):**

**so apparently you've been talking abt me with ur friends**

**luca spilled all the details**

**some of it? sounded a bit? gay? diaz, u rascal**

_Jules (14:30):_

_Yeah yads Ive been walking poetic about your eyes for months now_

_Thanks for catching on_

_Gay? No way thats crazy man_

**You (14:32):**

**idk jules I'm getting some gay vibes from you**

**might be the fact that you kissed me, but who knows really**

_Jules (14:34):_

_< 3_

_Luca talked to you today??_

**You (14:35):**

**he sat with me during lunhc**

***lunch**

**heard some interesting things about my black hoodie? very romantic**

_Jules (14:37):_

_Obviously, your hoodie is the biggest rival I have for your love_

**You (14:38):**

**i can love u both julian**

_Jules (14:40):_

_nO YADS THERE CAN ONLY BE ONE_

**You (14:42):**

**okay well**

**i guess**

**if i HAD to choose it'd probably be you**

_Jules (14:45):_

_LOVE YOU TOO YADRIEL, MI AMOR_

_< 3 <3 <3_

**You (14:46):**

**:P**

**luca's** **a good kid, he can totally talk to me at** **school**

**people here suck but whtv**

**i** **think he was sort of scared of me at first? idk why i'm not even scary**

**but yeah**

_Jules (14:50):_

_'Im not even scary' he says while literally being a witch who wears black all the time_

**You (14:51):**

**wHATEVER**

**WE'RE NOT EVEN WITCHES**

_Jules (14:55):_

_;)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's leave that on a fluffy note. Comments, kudos and recs are always welcome! Tell me what you thought in the comments (it's great hearing from you guys!) 
> 
> (Updates every Monday)
> 
> Tumblr: @etubrutus666


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the short-ish chapter, ya’ll know how school is, very not fun. most of the exciting stuff I promised was split from this chapter, so *sigh* we’ll just need to wait until next Monday. Enjoy the update!

It's been a long day, and you're finally done with your last two exams - history and math, both leaving you exhausted with the pages you'd crammed yesterday. (Surprisingly enough, your class always has midterms at the beginning of the year, so while there's a little nostalgia every February, there's mostly resignation and copious amounts of coffee in your timetable. 

_(Plus,_ the brujx had dealt with a bus crash yesterday, and you'd had to help with removing their tangled tethers from the crash site. It'd been a really long night, but hey, at least the Cold War, Calculus and Purrcaso had kept you company.)

Dad and Diego had seen your face, given you sympathetic pats on the back and a wide berth, so you're pretty sure they won't say anything about you immediately going to your room to crash for a few hours. You close the door behind you, change out of your binder, and _just_ as you've put on fresh clothes, your stomach begins to cramp. 

_Shit_.

The urge to swear out loud is tempting, but you're way too tired, so you go to the bathroom for a tampon instead. 

The _good_ thing about this situation, you think, is that there's _no way_ your body can avoid sleeping now. A wall bumps into you in the corridor, but you barely notice since your eyes keep closing. 

Once you're back in your room, Purrcaso shakes her fur and rubs up against your legs. As soon as you've put the light out, you curl up on the comforter, and barely register her purring next to your face before drifting off. 

You think a lot about Julian Diaz.

His eyes, for one, dark and warm. The way they crackle and light up whenever he's got an idea or laughs; how you could look into his eyes and feel like you're burning, in the best way.

His mouth, his smile - hell, his entire _face,_ telegraphing his expression as clear and unmissable as a goddamn sunrise.

About the way he walks, the perfect pace for whoever's next to him, never too fast or slow, and you could bet he doesn't even know he's _doing_ it half the time, because it's just a _Julian_ thing to do. Giving himself to people without expecting anything in return. 

You're almost embarrassed about how much you're gone over this boy. A year ago, it would have filled you with dread, having a _crush_ on a _boy,_ especially on one with such a (grossly inaccurate) shitty reputation. You'd have dismissed the possibility of anything coming of it _immediately,_ because neither of you had ever talked, and he was probably _straight, and it's not like anyone would even think of dating you because you were trans and you got enough shit for that already, and -_

And, and, and. 

It hadn't happened that way. Instead, you met him in an old church on your sixteenth birthday, as a spirit, and there hadn't been anything _normal_ about the situation, but somehow everything had worked out for all of you. 

Julian was a boy who'd have died for his friends, again and again - (he'd sure as hell tried.)

And still never ceased to amaze you that you were allowed to be near him, to touch him, to talk to him freely and laugh with him. He's a bright spot in your mind, amongst your memories, and you hold onto him whenever you sleep, because otherwise, you - 

drowning. you're drowning. 

no, not exactly. there's air, no injuries on your body, but lady death stands over you, beautiful and terrifying, and your lungs refuse to work. 

the air stinks of blood, and the scent is nothing new for you, but now it's all you taste, choking on nothing but the lack of life in your chest. 

the lack of life is death. you're dying. where will you go? xibalbla? questions are like cotton stuffed in your head.

(maritza and julian register somewhere near, but your eyes are closing.)

it hurts. until it doesn't, and then - 

You gasp for air and scrabble at the sheets around you, waking up in a cold sweat, something cat-shaped nudging at your side. 

"Jesus, god," your voice is thick, chest heaving with air that you can actually _breathe,_ now. You're in your room, and it's almost dark outside, which means... what? When did you fall asleep? When you got home, right. It must have been a few hours since then, other people's voices reach your room through the floorboards. 

Purrcaso rubs her head against your arm, which is still shaking and clutching the comforter. It grounds you, bringing you to your senses, and you take in a deep breath to calm your pulse. The shaking lessens, slightly, but not enough. 

You fall back on the mattress, hugging a pillow against your chest, and look up at the water stained ceiling.

The sound of distant traffic come from the window, and somebody laughs downstairs - probably Diego with Arles - but it's still not enough to drown out the thoughts. After-effects of trauma, or something. (It's stupid how easily dreams can be forgotten, while nightmares stay with you for _days._ )

The dreams are bad. And they happen more often when you're already tired, or stressed, but they're _so much worse_ when you don't see them coming. Today, you didn't see it coming. (You really should have.)

There's still a mild tension behind your eyes, and yeah, you're still tired, but going to sleep again isn't an option. You don't want to see - to remember - any of _that night_ more than necessary. The day's events come to you while Purrcaso paws at the pillow lazily, her body warm, like a small fireplace. Your exams went well enough - the all night studying paid off, and now you've got a one-week break.

You don't want to deal with your family. It's not like - you're _not_ angry at them, there's no reason to be, but they'd be able to sense the tiredness on you, and explaining the nightmares to them would make _you_ irritated, and it would end badly for everyone. 

Well, if you're not going to sleep, there's no reason to lie down. You swing your legs over the edge, and automatically reach for your _portaje_. It's a comforting weight, warm and heavy, and holding it has always grounded you. 

There's a lance of pain in your stomach, which make you think, _great,_ periods are so fun.

Walking usually helps, so you pace your room for a while, and after that doesn't work, you finally cave and take some aspirin from the bedside cabinet. (There's no need for most medication with brujas around, but stomach cramps aren't technically injuries, so painkillers are always in stock.)

After swallowing the pills, you lean against the window. The grass below is covered in tombstones, some older than others, all of them occupied during Dia De Muertos. The sky's a deep blue now, even though it's not that late. 

You pick up your phone. The last message Julian sent you was a meme with a spin on the word 'brujx.' It's not that funny, but you laugh because it makes you feel better.

**You (14:28):**

**hey**

_Jules (14:30):_

_What's uuuuuuup_

_is 'hey' the only thing you text anymore?_

**You (14:28):**

**ha ha**

**it's a nice conversation starter alright**

_Jules (14:30):_

_Sure, sure_

_What is this conversation about?_

You debate lying to him, saying it's all good, but only for a moment. 

**You (14:28):**

**i can't sleep**

**it's not getting better**

**ugh i hate talking about this**

_Jules (14:30):_

_Tough luck, man_

_Hang on I'm calling you_

The phone buzzes in your hand, showing your boyfriend's name and a dumb selfie of you both. Julian's grinning like a maniac and you look like the grumpy cat meme. You click 'accept.'

_"So, want to tell me what's going on?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not-really-a-cliffhanger, but I know you guys want to see Julian in-person, so... :P next Monday!
> 
> Also, something I noticed about the Queer Train Gang (julian’s friends) is that they’re... really protective. Listening to their scenes in the audiobook of Cemetery Boys felt like something out of AFTG, so... expect that to be explored in later chapters :D
> 
> (you can’t see me, but i’m grinning right now. man, the stuff I’ve got in store for you guys.)
> 
> Also! Subscribe to my AO3 account if you like this fic - I’ve got a bunch of queued-up AU fics and stuff for Cemetery Boys that I’ll posting soon. (There’s one that’s almost done that I KNOW you’ll all love. Trust me on this one, go subscribe.)
> 
> Hit me up and follow me on tumblr at @etubrutus666 - as always, comments are greatly appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

“Not particularly,” you say, tamping your voice down. Nobody’s listening, but it’s not a conversation you want to speak into importance. You want it to be fun, and easy, and casual, even though Julian knows you well enough to ensure it will be honest.

“Okay,” he says, voice crackling over the phone, “Well, we do this every time, so I’ll go first, sound good?”

You huff a laugh, the glass cold at your forehead. “Sure.”

Jules tells you about a car his brother’s working on, one of Bobby’s old clients who’s got a daughter who totalled her maserati and only trusts Rio to fix. He’s been working on it for a whole-ass day, Jules says, and is going to crash hard in a few hours. Then it’s about how Rocky won their bet on who could learn this awesome new nosedive skating trick - Julian had known he’d lose, but he’d thrown himself into it, because why not, right? Flaca’s drawings were amazing, she could bring shit to life on paper, and they’d all gotten together with her for Rio’s birthday, given him a painted denim jacket that she’d used fabric paints on.

“And Omar just scored the highest on Mr. Reyes’ history test from school, which he won’t admit to be being proud of, but he’s hella proud. I mean, I am too - he’s so goddamn smart, they should just hand him a scholarship already!”

You remember the last time you met Omar. Not the best circumstances. And then there’s some background noise, the sound of chatter and a bell. “Where even are you right now?”

“My favourite place in the world, corazón.”

“What, the church?”

Julian snorts, and so do you. “Guess again, Yads.”

You sigh, resigned. “King Taco.”

“Where all your taco dreams come true!”

“If I didn’t know you, I’d be surprised that you know the advertisements by heart.”

“But you do know me,” Julian says, laughing.

“Yeah,” you say, grinning, “I do.”

There’s a comfortable pause, where there is nothing but the cold of the glass, the faints sounds of traffic, and the sound of familiar breathing on the other end. You could live here, you think. It’s better than a good sleep, easier to find, but then Julian asks, “What about you?”

It’s a common question, between the two of you, voices concerned, something you bounce to each other like a game of tennis. It’s always a hard conversation, honest, raw, and there’s your knee-jerk reaction of denying anything is wrong, something you and dad have in common, but you ignore the impulse.

Take a breath. This is fine. You can talk to Jules about the dreams, you should, if he’s your subconscious reprieve. It makes sense to talk to him about this. You grip the portaje, the dents in the hilt aligning with your fingers. 

“Whenever I’m… stressed, or like, even when I’m not, it’s just… bad.” Breathe. “I can barely get through the night without waking up. It’s, you know, it’s easier to just not to sleep. God, I’m not making sense.”

“What do you see? In the dreams.”

You close your eyes. “You don’t want to know.” It sounds petulant. You hate how you sound, talking about this. You hate talking about this.

“I do want to know. I’m here, talk to me.”

Take a breath. “It’s like... drowning. In the dark, and it’s cold, there’s blood, and this, this, this figure that’s probably Lady Death, but, you know, sometimes she’s just standing there and other times she’s holding me under.”

There’s a silence, but the words don’t stop. 

“It’s always the same, right? There’s that one dream, and I _know_ it’s what I’ll see when I close my eyes, and so, it’s easier just… not to do that. I’d just choose not to sleep, if I could. I don’t…” you breathe out, run your free hand through your hair, “I don’t _want_ to see that, Jules. I’m not strong enough to feel myself dying every time I’m asleep.

A car goes by on Julian’s end of the phone. Makes sense, you think, King Taco is open 24/7. 

“So that's what it felt like?” he asks, eventually, “Dying?”

It's ironically funny. “You’re one to talk, Diaz, don’t play dumb.”

“Hey I’m not! I mean, I don’t actually _remember_ getting stabbed, so.”

“Take my word for it, the experience sucks.”

“I’m glad you told me,” Julian says, subdued. “I know your dad and brother are assholes, sometimes, but… maybe they’d be able to help?”

“Like _Xibalba_ they would,” you say, surprised by the bitterness in your voice.

“I know you think that,” Jules says, “and, I mean, they might not. But they’re brujos too, right? And, you know... they’re your family.”

You hum, noncommittally. Julian talking about family (just his brother, you think, and then correct yourself - all of the people he loves are his family) is more meaningful, since he doesn’t bring it up that often. “Maybe.”

“Cool. And, hey, call me whenever you need to.”

“Sure, if you’re not spamming my calls folder already.”

“Ha ha,” he mocks. Then, after a silence, “You should join us.”

“What?”

“Here. Everybody’s at King Taco, remember? It’s only two blocks away from the cemetery, you won’t even need to drive.”

“I mean...isn't it three AM?”

“Yeah, and _you’re_ still awake, right? There’s not even school tomorrow, and don’t even lie, I know you probably just slept without eating, you brujx are always starving. Come on!”

You’re not really that hungry - maybe you would be, if not for the cramps and suffocation from the nightmares. But you wouldn’t mind seeing Jules. At all. It would great, in fact, if you could see him, but that’s not why you’re hesitating. “Will it be… okay, with everyone?”

“Who?” Julian seems to realise, “Oh, everyone else? No, it’s fine, they’re super chill with you.”

“Right.” You doubt that. Maybe Luca would be, you’ve got some rapport with him, but the rest of Julian’s family? You didn’t exactly make the best first impression.

It’s not that they dislike you, really. It’s just that, for all they know, you and Julian had met sometime around when your uncle had stabbed him, held him hostage for a week, and tried to start a sacrificial death cult. Sure, you’d been there with him at the hospital, but that was after you’d accused his brother of not caring about family.

Definitely not the best impression. They get that the two of you are dating, but they still probably think you’re shady as hell. 

Julian must catch on, “Hey, don’t worry, it’ll be fine! I’ll be there, right?”

“I guess.”

“I’ll talk to them anyway. Come on, be a teenager!” his voice crackles, and you grin, balancing the phone between shoulder and ear while pulling on shoes and a hoodie. “You’ve snuck out before to, like, save the world, nobody’s going to stop you _now_.”

You walk into the restaurant, and immediately notice the cluster of spirits near the bathrooms. Of course, since nobody else can see them, they become a translucent walk-through curtain for the customers walking through the door - though they don’t seem to be doing much. 

That is, until you take a few steps forward, and all of their eyes snap toward you. Your portaje is tucked into your jeans, so you stare back, and they fade into the doorway, cowed. 

They’re all scared of brujx, nowadays. Which is weird, since you _don't_ exorcise them indiscriminately, but the closing of the link to Xibalba must have taken its toll on the spirits still attached to the surface, if their behaviour says anything. 

Then, Julian’s voice calls out to you. “Hey, Yads, over here!”

He’s in one of the booths at the window, with Flaca, Rocky, Omar and Luca huddled around him. Julian looks toward you, waving you over with a huge grin on his face, and even though you’re borderline _terrified_ that his family is going to hate you, you feel yourself smiling in return. 

You walk over, hands in hoodie pockets. “Man, you actually came, what a rebel,” Julian says, moving over to make room for you at the corner. The others exchange brief glances, having a conversation in their own versed language, before acting so excruciatingly _casual_ that you know Julian’s told them to do so. 

Omar and Rocky give him a short nod, while Flaca says, “Hey,” serene as ever. Luca, whom you’ve talked to recently, waves excitedly and says, “Hi, Yadriel! I thought you had exams today?”

“I did,” you say, settling in at the edge, “two of them. No school tomorrow, though.”

Luca nods. “Nice.”

You wait in the awkward silence, hoping somebody says something. Thankfully, Julian’s got you covered. “I’m gonna see if our food’s ready - Omar, receipt?”

Once he has it, Julian walks over to the counter. The others share another collective glance, except Luca, who drums his fingers against the table, humming to one of those songs on the radio. 

“So, Yadriel,” Flaca says, “how’s, uh, your cousin?”

“Maritza?” she nods. “She’s fine. Keeps trying to get a sick note from her sister so she can miss school, but that’s been a bust so far.”

She smiles. Rocky leans back, and says, “So, we’ve got to ask you a super important question, man.”

“Uh-“

“All of our good opinion depends on your answer. Are you ready? You gotta be ready for this, dude.”

Yadriel blinks. “...sure?”

Rocky leans forward on the table, hands clasped together, like she’s making a business transaction. Omar rolls his eyes and sighs, resigned. She says, “Choose - tacos or burritos?”

You frown. “Tacos, obviously.”

Luca clutches his chest, as though shocked. “No! How could you?”

Omar snorts. “The guy’s got good taste, at least.”

Rocky shakes her head, disappointedly, and says to Julian, when he comes back with trays of food in hand, “Sorry, Jules, I know you like him, but I can’t approve.”

He sets the trays on the table, and leans against the booth’s table, mock-faint, with his hand against his forehead. In a complete deadpan, he says, “Oh no, amor, my family has not approved and now we must elope.”

You grin, but there are still bags under your eyes and you feel a headache coming on, so you respond with a monotonous, “Oh, no.”

As the others dig into the food with familiar conversation, you lean back, enjoying the noise. The vestiges of the nightmare are long gone, but you’ve been on edge since waking up, and for some reason, sitting here, between Julian and his family, comforts you. 

They don’t _actually_ hate you, is the surprising revelation. Sure, they must have been suspicious when Julian ran into your arms in the hospital after he’d been _missing_ , but all in all, you stand neutral in their thoughts. Omar maybe doesn’t like you much, but that’s probably because he’s protective of his family already, more than about you.

“Hey, have fun going to the bathroom, it’s _freezing_ in there.”

“That bathroom?” Rocky gestures at the door. “It’d be cleaner pissing in a bucket than that shithole.”

They all laugh, and so do you, but your eyes dart to the spirits that have begun loitering near the area again. Their eyes are on you, and as one of the brujx, you’re not bothered, since being sought after by spirits is just a part of life, though it’s a little unsettling, now.

You can’t exactly pinpoint why.

At one point of the conversation, Julian slings an arm over your shoulder, leaning his weight until you’re both taking up less space than before, as a single unit. You feel the warmth of his chest, can imagine hearing his pulse where his neck is near your ear, as he talks animatedly about the bet he made with (and lost to) Rocky. 

God, Julian is so alive. He _burns_ with it.

Eventually, once they’ve all eaten (except you, since you didn’t order and also painkillers are the only thing keeping cramps at bay) and the King Taco employees are eyeing your group in a clear _you’ve-stayed-here-long-enough_ way, you walk outside with the five of them. 

Once on the sidewalk, you check your phone. No missed calls, so Dad and Diego didn’t notice you leave (thankfully.) The clock reads 5AM, and while your eyes have begun aching for sleep again, the lightness in your chest makes it having been worth sneaking out to hang out with Julian.

Julian is off to the side, on his phone, talking in muted Spanish, probably to his brother, Roderigo. From what you remember, the two of them won’t ever admit to being protective of each other, but you’ve _seen_ Julian defy the laws of death to communicate with his brother. They must have a rule about calling in whenever coming home, or something. 

You try to imagine doing that with Diego. It’s an idea you dismiss quickly - the two of you were never that close _before_ Camila died, and you’ve never had to lean on him for anything before. If anyone, you would have had that relationship with Catriz, but, well.

Julian nods, still on the phone. You happen to notice a few spirits milling about - when you send them discreet glares, they meet your eyes, but quickly disperse. You don’t want the undead following Julian and his family around - they can’t see them, sure, but that doesn’t mean spirits can’t cause harm. Ghost stories don’t come from nowhere, after all. (And none of them are brujx, they’re defenseless - and then you catch yourself fretting over a group of people your own age, when most of them are barely on speaking terms with you.) 

Julian’s standing with Omar, now, who beckons Rocky and Luca over. You find yourself absently labelling the guy as the self-proclaimed ‘big brother’ of the group, when Flaca comes to stand by your side, hands in jacket pockets. 

She’s taller than you, and far more graceful. “Hey.”

You squint up at her. “Hi.” Awkwardly, you give her a small wave, as though the two of you hadn’t just sat in a King Taco food chain together five minutes ago. 

She grins, slightly, but looks forward, toward the street. You follow suit, until she speaks. “So, Julian.”

You frown, uncertain. “Uh, Julian?”

“He invited you here tonight.”

You do look at her, then. “Yeah, I guess. It wasn’t really that formal.” When Flaca doesn’t say anything, you sigh, and half laugh. “If - if this is another shovel talk, you really don’t need to bother. Luca’s already covered that area.”

This seems to surprise her, and she laughs abruptly, leaning forward. “No, no, that’s not it. I… apologise if we’ve come across as… protective.”

“It’s fine,” you say, automatically. _It is fine_ , you think. Julian has people who love him watching his back, and you’re relieved he does. (he’s already almost died on you once, it’s less likely this way.)

Flaca continues, “No, ah, he didn’t really explain much before inviting you? He’d said you had shit going on back at home. Just - are you alright?”

You know what she’s actually asking, because Julian’s told you enough about Flaca that it’s easy to piece together. A ‘throwaway’ - kicked out for being trans, and having to find a place to live before graduating high school. Anger flares in your chest slightly, before you remember that Flaca doesn’t need your protection, or anger. She’s managed fine so far (better than you have, probably) but the question still rings of concern and understanding. 

And you actually consider your answer.

It’s not like living as brujx is… the worst. In fact, since you brought five people back from the dead, and stopped a power-hungry mass murderer (Catriz, who should have had a fucking better legacy,) some of your relatives have whispered about you being, whatever, a _god_ , which is ridiculous. It’s not bridged the gap between you and them that had appeared after you came out. You don’t think anything’s ever going to bridge that gap - you could release every maligno on earth and they’d all still skirt around you, keeping a slight distance. 

And Dad and Diego? That’s another matter entirely. You don’t think the three of you know how to… exist together, without Camila. You love them, in the way you love most of your family. That’s all you can really say. You don’t enjoy thinking about the intricacies of the threads between the three of you, since they’re so tangled and odd that it’s better to just let things be as they are.

“I’m alright,” you tell Flaca. “Things are fine back home, it’s just, you know.” You gesture to your head. “Stuff up here.”

“Nightmares?”

That surprises you. “Yeah, actually.”

If she asks you to explain them, you’re not going to, and it’ll probably offend someone, but she doesn’t ask. Instead, she says, “I think, sometimes, the others forget you were there too. With the whole, stabbing, kidnapping thing. You were the one who found those kids, and stopped the guy from doing worse.”

“‘The guy’ was my uncle,” you say, voice tight. You can never think about him without the undercurrent of shame and bitterness. _I was related to him_. And then, _I loved Catriz like a father, and he tried to kill Julian, and my cousin, and he was my **uncle**_.

“You still stopped him,” Flaca says firmly. Your shoulders relax at the tone, and you nod at her words.

The two of you stand there for a while longer, the street ahead far quieter now, at five AM, than it usually is. Your headache is glad for the reprieve, though still ebbs at the edge of your temple. 

All you've got to do is head back the way you came, to get home. The rest of them will probably walk. Once Julian starts heading back toward you, Omar, Rocky and Luca in tow, Flaca briefly touches your shoulder. You look up at her. 

“Yadriel,” she says, serious, “regardless of whatever my girlfriend says in jest, I _do_ approve of your relationship with Julian.”

It’s unexpectedly formal, and you blink before processing the statement, and nodding. “Uh, thanks. I… appreciate that.” 

She nods decisively, and joins the rest of her group as easily as water flowing into a stream, the five of them a collective entity. Julian grins at you, bright, eyes squinting. “I’ll see you later, then?”

You nod. “Yep. Later. Bye,” you wave to the rest of them. Julian’s smile widens as Luca waves happily back, and the others give nods of acknowledgement. 

As you’re walking back to the cemetery, your phone pings. 

_Jules (05:19):_

_Told you it would be fine_

  
You can’t help but smile.

When you do get back home (after scaling the gates and sneaking past spirits and tombstones) you climb through your window, and breathe a sigh of relief at the fact that nobody caught you. 

They wouldn’t… do anything. If it were Lita, she might scold you, but anyone else would probably just brush it off. You were a brujo, after all, there wasn’t much in the cemetery that could really hurt you. 

You’ve definitely tired yourself out. You find that you don’t really care if the nightmares are gone (you do, actually, but it’s _half five in the morning_ ,) and so you change out, and curl up on the bed with Purrcaso. The cat licks your face, tiredly, and it’s not long before you’ve drifted off.

  
(What you’re not counting on, the next day, is Diego meeting you downstairs for breakfast. Neither of you ever do this, but your brother seems determined, as he says, “Hey, man. We’ve got to talk.”)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, I do feel very good about how this chapter turned out, :D comment down below!

You scoff. “Sure. Pass the salt.”

He does, and the soup  _ really  _ needs it. Lita’s cooking isn’t bad, but it barely ever survives until the ‘leftover’ stages. You’re starving, since you’d crashed after the exams yesterday, and despite having snuck out to visit a  _ restaurant,  _ you’d forgotten to eat. 

Diego’s brow is furrowed. He’s taller than you (most of your cousins are, too) but right now, he’s hunched over, like he wants to be closer to your level. You stand up straight, not looking at him. 

“Yadriel,” he tries to catch your eyes, “We need to talk.”

“Why?”

“Dad asked me to -”

“Oh, of course, if  _ dad _ asks -”

Diego sighs, holds his temple, and you expect this to turn into an argument, like conversations between the two of you so often do. It’s why you both don’t talk much, not since Camila died, because dad doesn’t have the patience to break apart your arguments.

But Diego just says, “Dad was talking about how spirits are acting, recently. They’re… more skittish, he’d said, and they’re reacting pretty strongly to brujos when they see us outside the cemetery.”

You want to ask, _ ‘Is there a reason you’re telling me this at breakfast?’  _ but don’t, since your position as a brujo might still be tenuous, and you don’t want to look like a brat. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

Diego raises an eyebrow. “When?”

“On the street, where else? The ones here are fine, though.”

“Yeah,” he says, watching you suspiciously. It irritates you, gets under your skin. 

“ _ Yeah,  _ dude, get to the point.”

Diego stands up straight as well. Glad to know they’re both going to be honest, here. “There’s not been a difference in how many we release, though. We’ve not seen more malignos than usual, just…”

“More symptoms,” you finish. “Could it - do you think it’s because of -”

“Maybe,” Diego says, looking away. The wound still stings, for him as well. He’d been close to Catriz, too. “Dad says we can’t know for sure, though.”

“Okay,” you’re not sure where this is going.

“He was thinking that maybe, you know, since you’re newer and stuff, that you should… take it easy? For a while, just until -”

“No,” you cross your arms. “No  _ way _ . You’re  _ not _ getting rid of me because of this.”

He frowns. “I’m not  _ saying  _ that, it’s just that you’re less protected, you’ve not trained as much with the rest of us, and it might be safer.”

“The only reason I don’t have as much training is because you guys wouldn’t  _ let me,  _ that’s not on me -”

“I know, it’s not on you, but in the end -”

“Diego, I  _ died _ and came back.” That shuts him up, and his eyes widen, like it hadn’t actually crossed his mind. “I found Catriz, called Lady Death, and released four souls at once, alright? I  _ can  _ handle anything that comes our way, and I  _ will. _ “

Diego looks like he wants to say more, but hesitates, and finally deflates. “Listen, man,” he says, “he’s just trying to look out for you.”

_ He’s not that good at it,  _ you think. 

“I know. It’s fine, though. He doesn’t need to.” 

You love your father the same way all your family does, but there’s a distance between you both for a few years, now, and Camila had been the only one who’d ever really managed to cross it. You’d never  _ needed _ Enrique Vélez during the hard times (he hadn’t been there, more like) and it’s a little too late for him to start. 

As your brujx leader, you respect him. As your father, you wish Enrique would let things  _ be,  _ for once. You’re a brujo, you’ve released dozens of spirits, by now, and things are  _ good,  _ more or less. If  _ now _ is when the man wants to start being proactive about your life? You sure as xibalba aren’t going to let him start.

The soup’s turned cold again, and you put it in the microwave again with a sigh. It’s noon, and you took painkillers an hour ago, but the cramps mean you can only eat soft food. Diego always wakes up at seven to work out, but he looks tired too. 

Wistfully, you think of Lita’s tacos. (King Taco is gross and greasy in comparison.) “Where is Lita, anyway?”

“Huh?”

“Abuelita,” you repeat, “¿dónde está?”

Diego shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe teaching Lucia again.”

Lucia, their little cousin, who’s turning out to be a healing prodigy. (Whenever Lita used to talk about the girl, she'd look at you wistfully, though not very disappointed. It seemed to say,  _ what you could have been,  _ and  _ look at what you have become,  _ at the same time, and before, maybe you’d have been upset at the implications, but now, you don’t really care.)

You hum at his answer, take out the soup, stir it again. Diego sips his coffee.

And just like that, they’re at peace again. 

  
  


This time, they’re at the scrapyard. It gives the whole affair a more grave tone than is warranted, with the low light of the moon giving old metal a gilded sheen. Everything here looks sharp, or warped into dense metal, and it  _ definitely  _ isn’t going to be open for the public any time soon. The other brujos have portajes in hand, stances firm and in formation. You’re on one of the side flanks, and as always, Enrique is at the front of their lineup.

“It was a train-wreck, from a year ago, I think,” Miguel had said. “Our spirits say that they’ve started showing symptoms.” A translucent woman had come up to him, then, and whispered something worriedly in his ear, before disappearing into the ether. “They just started going maligno.”)

You’ve got your portaje ready, too. The air is filled with crickets, and distant traffic. It’s never silent in LA, not even for the dead.

Distantly, you think of Julian. It’s embarrassing, and Maritza would make fun of you for it, but you imagine if he were here, he’d probably make a joke about how  _ time waits for nobody, unless you have no body,  _ and everybody would laugh. (He’d make a good brujo, you think.)

If Julian were here, you wouldn't be this nervous. You’re sure the other men feel it too, the slight  _ wrongness  _ of the situation. It’s similar to what you felt in the basement, way back  _ then _ . Disregarding ‘that time in the basement,’ this is the biggest spirit-releasing trip you’ve been on. 

You know you can do it. You have been training, alongside studying for college. It will be fine. 

Suddenly, a wisp of translucent dust, almost a cloud of mist roughly in the shape of a person, appears in front of Enrique. “Please,” it -  _ they _ \- say. Distorted. The wisp disperses, and then comes back. “Please, help. Or… leave. Please.”

The voice is absent, not quite there, so Enrique whispers, “Muéstrame el enlace,” and dozens of floating lines of gold appear in the air. 

“Tethers,” you say to yourself. 

There is a last, faint, “ _ Please _ ,” before the misty wisp disappears. The tethers remain, though. And you’ve seen this happen before, so you know what comes next.

Figures appear in front of you all, but this time, they’re a pure void of black. An oil spill of warped spirits, gone maligno, scattered around the debris of metal and old vehicles. This place is filled with dead and broken people and things, and the only people here to help are you and your family.

Enrique’s portaje glows gold, but that won’t be enough. He says, as their leader, “Everyone.”

There is a wave of, _'Muéstrame el enlace'_ between all of you, and the tethered malignos are differentiated, the golden lines drawing and tying them to random pieces of engine and hull (all locomotive.) Now all the portajes are glowing gold, and it is you all versus them. 

Miguel mutters a prayer under his breath, but you do not. Instead, you breathe, and wait for it to start. 

The first maligno attacks, and the others follow suit. The thing about being brujx is that you can see spirits, but so can they, and that means they can hurt you. It is why you all train so much, why you  _ must,  _ because there is no way you would survive otherwise. 

You have cut the tethers of three malignos, so far, when they’d come at you. They aren’t that fast, so it is not difficult. You wade through them, find another, cut and release it. It’s like dancing (dancing, in a beach full of awkward teenagers and loud music and Julian laughing, a sea of bodies around you) being enveloped by the dark shadows of their forms but never touched, because you know where they are, ( _ m’ijo _ , Lady Death says) and cutting through the golden lines, letting their sorrow and  _ hurt  _ and  _ pain  _ leave the earth, ( _I will guide you_ , Lady Death says,) making them free.

You see another maligno, without others around it. Its eyes are pure white, though they look like holes. You wonder where the other brujos are, but only for a moment, as you run toward it. It lashes out with something like an arm, and you slip past it. It blows up dust, makes a few hunks of metal creak around you, but you don’t slow down. As you reach the tether, and are about to cut through it, the maligno screams. 

It is not fear. (You know what fear sounds like.)

It’s the last cry of pain before being put under anaesthetic, something heralding relief, like a flare for help. 

You feel sympathy, in the back of your mind. You are sorry this person died. You have died, too, but you managed to come back. You do not pretend to understand the feeling of being cut from this world, despite being able to go to a better one. It was not fair, you know. (Julian standing next to the ofrenda you built for him. It was  _ not fair _ .)

As it tries to strike again, you duck, and say quietly, “I’m sorry,” before the thread snaps, flows freely for a second, then disappears. 

The scrapyard is quiet again (not silent, thankfully. You wouldn’t be able to handle silence right now.)

You don’t realise how heavily you’re breathing until you lower the portaje. The binder makes your chest tight, but you’re more or less used to that. When you turn around, the other men are staring at you. 

You straighten your back. “What?”

Miguel is the first to smile, serenely. He walks over to you, stands at your side. “Good job.”

You raise an eyebrow, unsure of what he means. Is it… sarcastic? No, it’s not. That’s surprising.

What’s even more surprising is how  _ Diego  _ blinks a few times, before doing the same and putting a hand on your shoulder, standing to your left. He pats it, awkwardly, before coughing. “I, uh, I didn’t know you were that… competent.”

Competent? “Wow, thanks.” The words are heavy with sarcasm.

Then you see the older men glance at Enrique, some surprised, others grinning and patting him on the back. You  _ could  _ listen to what they’re saying, but you choose not to. (It’s never worth the uncle and dad jokes, with them.)

Enrique looks at you. You don’t look much like him, everyone says, but the two of you have the same eyes. Amber, like molten bronze, facing off against itself. You don’t like dad’s judging looks, where he sizes a person up and decides their fate.  _ I told you I could do it,  _ you want to say,  _ I belong here. I deserve to be here. You did not get me here, nor will you remove me. _

If Enrique had said anything, you would have. But all he does is nod, look away, and tell everyone, “Let’s go home.”

It’s a relief.

  
  


Julian had asked you once, if releasing a spirit gave you nightmares. It was after a few of your first times using the portaje for brujo work, and you’d said no.

Releasing spirits was not… abnormal. Sure, it was  _ weird  _ to people who didn’t know about the afterlife, but the brujx grew up seeing spirits coming and going. It wasn’t anything to be scared of. 

“But for the maligno ones, though,” he’d asked, “y'all fight them, right? Isn’t  _ that  _ something that keeps you guys up?”

Maybe it was. Not for you, though. None of your nightmares were about fighting. (They were about other things.)

You’d told him, though, what you hadn’t trusted anyone else with. It wasn’t… important. Not as important as other things, but something you could only really expect Julian to understand. 

(“Sometimes I still feel her,” you’d said. “Lady Death. It’s like she’s… almost a part me, you know? Whenever I’m releasing sprits, I think differently, it’s like I’ve got this sixth sense, and I think it’s her.”)

Julian had mulled it over, barely even phased. “Because you brought me and the other guys back from the dead.”

You’d nodded, stilted.

“Alright, so she gets into your head sometimes,” he shrugged. “So what?”

You’d stared at him, then. “What, are you not… I don’t know, freaked out? She’s a  _ god,  _ and she controls what I do, that’s… I don’t know, it’s not  _ normal. _ ”

“Babe, I hate to break it to you, but you guys  _ aren’t  _ normal. I mean, it’s not much of a stretch, is it? You do the ceremony, your god blesses you and gives you the membership card. So what if she whispers in your ear sometimes? You’re still  _ you.  _ Hell, if she really did take over the reigns, wouldn’t she stop you from knowing it was happening?”

You’d covered your eyes, then. “Ugh. Aghhh.” 

“It is what it is, Yads,” Julian assuaged, hand on your shoulder.

Then you’d begun to laugh. “God, how are you so smart? I don’t like listening to this reasoning, Jules, let me live the angst.”

“Smart? Who, me?” He furrowed his brow in almost perfect confusion. 

“You’re such a conman. I can’t believe nobody knows you’re a jerk, _and_ an actual mastermind, hidden behind layers of skateboarding and tacky denim.”

“Hey, this denim is the real deal. Hey!” You hadn’t stopped laughing, and he’d been dragged in, too. “It’s  _ good denim! _ ”

“Sure, Diaz.”

“I want a divorce,” he’d said, not even trying to look serious. 

You remember that day, fondly.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oKAY I know there was that author's note about not posting as much and I meant that, BUT this was in backlog and I love you guys, so have this early gift, my treat.


	6. Chapter 6

When you all get back to the cemetery, nothing much is different. Some spirits give solemn, tired nods. They must be used to seeing their brujos come home after their work, and while it’s in service of their deity, releasing the remnants of people who used to be bright and alive is never just that simple.

Lita pats Enrique on the back when they walk into the main house, to the right of the one you live in. About a dozen of your tias and tios (maybe half of them your relatives) are milling around, the food having been made and young children put to sleep. 

You remember nights like this, when younger. You weren’t _with_ the adults, though, back then - you’d be asleep in your room, Camila having tucked you in with a kiss to the forehead and sighing at your unbrushed hair. 

Once, you’d said hers looked like a shiny waterfall. 

_Oh, thank you_ , she’d said, jokingly, _but if you let me brush and tie up your hair, you’d look just as pretty, amor._

You’d refused, of course. Now, you trail after Diego and André to the kitchen, to wash your hands before eating. All of you are famished - you’d found that releasing spirits took a surprising amount of energy - and as soon as you’ve dried off, you take a plate and put in a few tamales, and sauce. 

Lita’s ambled over to you, and puts a hand on your shoulder. It’s comfortable. Everybody is comfortable with Lita - she’s like _everyone’s_ grandmother, in a way. When she sighs, you’re surprised that you need to look down at her, now. It’s only been a few months since you were an inch or two shorter than her. Have you really grown that much? It hasn’t been something you’ve kept an eye on.

“Aye,” she says, and gives him a kiss on the cheek. “...Yadriel.”

That surprises you more than it should. “Lita.”

She snorts, shakes your shoulder affectionately (Lita’s ridiculously stronger than most of the brujos) and the two of you stand there for a while. “I am proud of you, you know.”

“Lo sé,” you say, (You didn’t, actually, know.) “Gracias.”

She smiles one last time, a little regret and guilt in it, before walking away to talk to someone else. You’ve almost forgotten the plate in your hand, but then your stomach growls, and you really _are_ hungry, so you eat.

About ten minutes later, once you’ve polished off two plates, Maritza walks through the main door, speaking into her phone with a huge grin on her face. You catch her eyes, and see your own relief mirrored.

You meet halfway, near the old radio table abuelito had insisted on keeping, and Maritza punches your arm. “Yads! How’d you do?”

“Fine, I guess,” you say, reaching for the mess of pink curls, intending to muss it up. Maritza ducks just in time, but you’re both grinning like kids. 

“God, everyone’s been here for ages, Lucia got to skip because she’s ‘studying’ but I’ve still got to come. Papí’s saying that if I want to apprentice with him - which, um, I already _know_ how to make portajes - then I have to start ‘participating.’”

“Ew, family? Gross.”

“Oh, don’t even. You _love_ stuff like this.”

“Never said I didn’t. Come on, eat something.”

“Yeah, give me a sec.” She types something on her phone, mouth curling upward.

“Who is it?”

“What? Oh, no-one.” She pockets her phone. “Uh, how’s Purrcaso doing?”

“Fine.” Maritza squirms guiltily as you stare at her. Realisation strikes. “Oh my god, is it who I think it is?”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about,” she says.

“Oh, sure, but tell Patrice I said hi.”

Maritza eyes widen, before shoving you aside with a ‘shhhh!’ Tía Rosalinda raises an eyebrow at the two of you, but everyone knows Lita’s the one who cracks down on teens, and since her hearing is fading, nobody really does anything about it. They would, normally, if it were any other seventeen-year-old brujx duo, but you and Maritza tend to get more leeway these days, and you’re certainly not complaining.

“How did you know about that?”

“For real?” When she still looks shocked, you roll your eyes, “I spend literally all my time with you, and you’re not subtle at all.”

She scoffs, and mock-punches you for that. Then, Maritza straightens her back, flips her hair, and becomes the very image of bruja serenity. “I’m very subtle.”

“Yeah, now,” you yawn. “But when you see her at lunch? It’s all, _‘hi, Patrice,_ ’ and _‘hey, could you pass the sugar? Oh, no, did I say sugar? Sorry, your face is so sweet that I get confused sometimes, haha!’_ Trust me, if there’s someone who hasn’t caught on, they’re pretty dense.”

“Do you think _she’s_ caught on, though?” Maritza asks.

You shrug. “Maybe? Is she even into girls?”

Maritza crosses her arms, looks away. You try recalling the other times she’s told you about her crushes - and then, you realise she hasn’t. Sure, Maritza pretends to be a flirt, and messes around with her friends, you _know_ this because she’s told you, but genuine feelings for someone? If she does like Patrice, she probably doesn’t know how to go about handling it.

“I don’t know,” Maritza confesses. “I mean, she does the whole straight-girl thing where she pretends to flirt with her friends, but we haven’t really… talked about that.”

“You could ask her,” you suggest, but Maritza looks at you like you’re stupid. Which, fair, it had sounded dumb the second you’d said it.

“Whatever,” says Maritza flippantly, “It’s not even a big deal. I mean, we’re going to graduate in less than a year, right? What’s even the point?”

You shrug. “If you really like her, you could just… tell her. That you like her. And see what she says, you know?”

Maritza scoffs. “No way. That’d be so embarassing. What, just put myself out there? I don’t even know if she sees me as that close of a friend, she’d probably get weirded out and never talk to me again! No. Way.”

“Maritza.”

“ _Yads_ , just… whatever. Let’s not talk about it, okay?”

You sigh, but nod, and lean back against the wall next to Maritza. After a few moments, the plate of tamales is held out as a peace offering, and she takes one without looking. 

It’s a relaxing evening, you suppose. Lita’s food always calms everyone down after a big spirit-cleansing, and it’s probably not bruja magic, but then again, Lita is Lita, and she’s lived far longer than you can imagine. There’s got to be a few tricks up her sleeve. 

At one point, Andre walks past, half-talking and half-arguing with Lilliana (everyone says they’re dating, and from what Maritza’s said about the girl, you think they’d make a pretty good match.) When they get to the door, the two begin vigorously making out, and Diego, who seems used to this routine, comes over to usher them out the door. Maritza’s mom comes to pat Diego on the back, sympathetically. You and Maritza stifle your laughter.

You know that Julian and his brother get into arguments. It was one of the first things you’d found out about Roderigo (you call him that because only his family calls him Rio,) and you’re painfully aware that the first impression he had of you was definitely... not the best.

The last time you’d been to Julian’s apartment, above ‘Martinez and Diaz Mechanic Shop,’ was more than a year ago. Julian had been missing, and his spirit had led you here, and you’d thought barging in with two pitbulls (lovely dogs, they are the best boys) to lecture the man on his relationship with his brother was a good idea.

You’ve seen Roderigo a few times after that, mostly with Julian present. It makes you cringe further that the second time he’d seen you was when you were making out with his brother in hospital gowns. Yep, you’re never going to forget that. 

(And also, your uncle had stabbed Julian. The police didn’t know, but Rio must have. That sort of impression would be fair to keep, you admit. None of Julian’s family knows about the brujx, and you can’t decide if that makes the situation better or worse.)

So it’s not a surprise when Rio opens the door and immediately scowls when he sees you. 

It’s 1AM on a saturday, during school break, and the only reason you’re here is because Julian had sent you a text, saying, ‘come over please i need you here.’ You hadn’t hesitated in climbing out the window and walking here, but you still have no context for what’s going on.

And then Julian’s voice, loud, “I don’t _care_ how many times you ask -”

Rio turns his back to you and stalks inside, the door hanging open. You see Jules standing in the narrow hallway, pissed and staring straight at the man, who cuts him off, shouting, “This is ridiculous. You’re being… childish, Julian! You _have_ to talk to me about this! ¡Háblame! ¡Debes contármelo!”

The argument continues, everyone else in the apartment completely ignored, and silent regardless. You see Flaca, Omar, and the others around the couch to the left, and stand inside, unimposing a few steps from the doorway.

You notice that Roderigo switches to Spanish, and Julian stubbornly refuses to. Their tones are unwavering, _obviously brothers_ , you think. The argument is more shouting and insults than anything else, at this point, but you’re not here for the drama, you’re here because Jules asked you to be. It isn’t any of your business.

Eventually, Julian storms over to the kitchen outlet, disappearing from view. Roderigo takes a breath, massages his temple, and turns to look at you again. You’re still in the entryway, looking out of place, but you meet the man’s glare with neutrality.

“What are you doing here.” There are traces of his previous anger.

“Julian called me over.”

Roderigo’s eyes narrow, and he crosses his arms. “I didn’t see him make a phone call.”

“He texted,” 

There’s a small, shaky exhale, and you only catch it because the man’s tiredness is palpable, like it’s always been. “Alright. He called you over? Now you can leave.”

You stubbornly stay where you are. Don’t break eye contact - it’s something you’d learnt early, growing up brujx - and don’t change posture. You’re not a threat here, but nor will you be pushed around. The urge to look over Roderigo’s shoulder, to see if Julian is there, is tempting, but you can read a room, and know you’re not wanted here.

You stand your ground, and Roderigo’s eye begins to twitch. “Listen,” he says, voice louder, “I’m not going to say this again -”

A small voice comes from the left - unmistakably Luca. “Rio, he’s good, Jules -”

Another voice - shockingly enough, it’s _Omar_ \- says, “It’s fine, Julian must have texted -”

Roderigo turns to them, and with his glare turned away, you can focus on the pain you feel from the guy - it’s exhaustion, emotional and physical, it feels like he’s on the verge of collapse. He doesn’t look like it, but brujx magic doesn’t lie.

(except when people don’t know about it, which would apply, in this case.)

Before anything else happens, there’s the slamming of a cupboard from the kitchen, and Julian stalking back into the corridor. He’s reaching for the door handle to his room, but stops when he sees you and Roderigo near the entryway. 

His eyes widen, and his face loses it’s tenseness, replaced with soft surprise. Like he’s surprised that you came over when he’d asked you to. It’s the bare minimum, it’s not even _romantic_ , and Jules is a dumbass.

You crane your neck to look over Roderigo’s shoulder. Your eyes meet, and you sense some pain from Julian too, but there’s a question in your eyes, and relief in Julian’s. 

He looks like he wants to say something, but then meets his brother’s glare, and narrows his eyes. (They look undeniably similar - it’s like the expressions are shared between the two.) The others are watching from the left, if the tension in the air is anything to go by. 

Before Julian opens the door, you call out, “Julian. Do you want me to go?”

He looks back to you, and shakes his head decisively, no. Before slipping into his room, Julian trades a look with his brother, undecipherable. And then the door slams shut, and Roderigo turns back to you. There’s anger, and hurt, and the man doesn’t seem to know where to put it. That’s probably why he says, “Listen, kid, I don’t know what you both talked about, but this is _personal business_. You can chat later, but not here. Leave.”

It stings, a little, but you’re used to not being wanted in places you need to be. You raise your hands, placating, “I’m not here to start anything, or intrude, but I didn’t come here for you.” One of the others is in the corridor, either to back up or usher you out. Doesn’t matter. “I came here because of Julian. So when he tells me to leave? I’ll leave.”

Roderigo continues to stare for a few more moments, before looking to - Rocky, you notice - and deciding you’re not worth the trouble. He walks over to the other room and closes the door behind him, most of the tension leaving the hallway. 

Rocky nods at you, and walks back to the couch. She doesn’t seem up for talking - then again, it’s past midnight - so you pull out your phone. 

**You (02:28):**

**so i’m here**

**want to talk about what happened?**

_Jules (02:30):_

_No_

_Not now_

_Later maybe. We got in a fight and shit hit the fan_

_Whatever_

  
  


**You (02:28):**

**alright**

**i’m right outside if you change your mind**

_Jules (02:30):_

_Okay_


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> family is a complicated, beautiful (painful) thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you're welcome

Looks like you’re going to be here for a few hours, then. Subtly, you look around the small apartment, trying to assess your surroundings. Typical brujx thing to do when in a new environment - you already know there are no spirits lingering here, but that’s about it. 

From the hallway, you can see the kitchen area, with sleeping bags stuffed under the counter. There’s a small table, which looks like a breakfast nook but is the _only_ table, so is probably the every-meal table. Luca’s hunched over a book, his small frame further dwarfed by the chairs and his posture. 

To the further left, Flaca and Rocky sit on the green couch, while Omar leans against the wall next to it, eyes closed. They all look tired - Flaca and Rocky have earphones split between them, and Omar radiates exhaustion. You can’t help but notice Omar being small and quiet - everywhere else, he’s loud and at the centre of conflict, protecting his family like he’d been born to do it.

But here, with Roderigo around, they all relax. They look like they know it’s a safe place, and the fact that _Omar_ trusts Julian’s brother enough to close his eyes and relax? That’s what cements the place as a home, in your eyes.

Despite how the man will probably never like you, at all, there’s a newfound respect you have for Roderigo. Julian had said his friends stayed here when there was nowhere else, and six people in this much space seems like a tight fit. 

But Roderigo makes it work for them, apparently. They occupy space like a… a team, or family. A single unit, facing off against the rest of the world. You’re glad that Julian has these people around him, willing to protect him at a moment’s notice. God knows he’d do the same. (Has done the same.)

Your feet begin to ache - sneaking out of the window and jogging to Belvedere road had been tiring, even for a brujo, and so you take a seat at the table.

Luca’s got a math textbook on the table in front of him, and his knitted brow makes you realise he’s nervous as hell, knees bouncing and looking like he wants to sink into his jacket, or be anywhere else.

“Hey, man,” you say, earning a quick, furtive look from the boy before he goes back to staring at the page.

“Are… you okay?” it’s a redundant question, because he’s clearly _not_ , but the kid shrugs dismissively anyway.

You take a closer look at the margins of the book - there are question marks, and crossed out sums. A memory, of Luca saying, “I suck at math,” during lunch one day. Maybe he’s not doing well, or just stressed. It would be easy to get stressed if you didn’t know how to ask for help. You know the feeling - it’s all too easy to remember yourself in the kid’s place, not wanting to impose on anyone with your own problems.

Julian adores Luca - like a little brother. Luca does too, if the faux shovel-talk at school was anything to go by. 

But you’re here, even if Julian can’t be. “Luca,” you say, trying to sound like Camila used to, when people were hurting, “What’s wrong?”

The kid squeezes his eyes shut, and eventually his shoulders fall, like he’s resigned. “Math. I’m… I’m failing math. I suck at it.”

“Here, let me see.” He slides the book over, unquestioning. You school your face, to seem like you’re sympathising, but in reality you’re sifting through the contents.

It works. “It’s not like… the stuff isn’t that hard, I guess, but the exam is tomorrow and I never _get_ anything in Abbott’s class - none of the stuff she says makes sense! And I know I missed a bunch of school, but… I should be able to get this, you know? I already got held back a year, and - I don’t want to disappoint Rio.”

You pause, at that. Luca, a kid that’s gone through more than some adults have, and he’s only fifteen. It’s obvious, even from the outside, that there’s no way Julian’s brother could be disappointed in the kid. Even staying alive, keeping on living - hell, if that’s not something to be proud of, then Rio doesn’t know what he’s got.

But then again, Luca’s _fifteen._ He’s an insecure kid, and Rio’s the only adult in his life who probably ever gave a shit. You get it, the feeling of wanting to prove you’re worth taking up space. 

And you also understand not wanting to ask for help. To deal with everything alone, because the situation seemed so dire and daunting at the time that it seemed like the only choice.

(Julian hadn’t let that stop him from _helping,_ with the determination of a tsunami. If he were here, there’d be no doubt that he’d give whatever support he could.)

You’re here instead. And outsider or not, your boyfriend cares about these people, which makes them important to you by proxy.

“Which chapters do you have for tomorrow?”

Luca blinks. He looks like a lost sheep, in the dim light. “What?”

“The exam tomorrow - what are they testing?” (The chapters are all ones you’ve done before - unless there’s trigonometry in the syllabus, it’ll be fine.)

“The, uh,” Luca rubs his eyes, like he doesn’t know what’s happening. “Fourth, fifth, sixth, and eighth.”

You scan the table of contents - great, they’re all simple enough. “That’s fine,” you nod, tilting the textbook so Luca can see, “We can start from the basics for each, and have it done in a few hours.”

Luca finally seems to catch on, and leans back, eyes wide. “You’re helping me?”

“Of course.”

The kid hunches his shoulders, like he had in the lunch hall, months ago. “You… you don’t have to - I can call Julian out here, if you want, it’s fine -”

“Luca,” you say, “The exam’s in a few hours, right? We’ve got this.”

The confidence in your voice would have been fake, a year ago. Now it’s sincere, and Luca hesitates for only a moment longer before nodding and grabbing his notebook.

Tutoring Luca is easier than studying with Maritza had been, when you both took math together. You figure out his problem half an hour in - he’s a visual learner, and Abbot teaches maths like a philosophy class, explaining concepts without writing anything on the board. Luca _wouldn’t_ get it, because he wasn’t wired to understand material like that. (Julian’s art seems more useful, now. Sprawling murals of saints and gods, and the guy doesn’t think it’s anything special.) Once you draw out the mechanics of the quadratic problems for Luca, he soaks up formulas like a sponge.

By 3AM, they’ve covered chapter four. Five and six and continuations of each other, and thank _god_ there’s no trigonometry because explaining the unit circle (while possibly easy for Luca to understand) would be a nightmare when running on barely any sleep.

Soon enough, Luca’s knees stop bouncing and his shoulders relax, like he’s comfortable with the formulae. The way his eyebrows furrow becomes less desperate with each question, and once there’s been a consistent stretch of algebraic word problems solved with no help from your end, you reach for you phone. 

The kitchen is right there, but you’re not going to intrude in someone else’s house. Luca, however, needs to eat - coffee’s got to come two hours before the test - otherwise he’s going to sleep through it all and the tutoring will amount to nothing.

**You (05:28):**

**hey**

**hope you’re doing okay**

**is there anything to eat? luca’s got his math test in a few hours**

_Jules (05:30):_

_I guess_

_Shit i forgot about that_

_He told me ages ago_

_Shit_

_I’ll wake him up before school dont worry_

  
  


**You (05:28):**

**we’re both awake**

**i’m helping him with math but pulling an all-nighter means he’s gotta eat a tonne if he wants to stay awake**

_Jules (05:30):_

_Wait_

_You’re still here?_

**You (05:30):**

**obviously**

Julian’s icon goes offline, and you don’t think much else of it, deciding to check for leftovers after the next chapter, when a door opens quietly.

The thing about Julian Diaz is that he spends so much time being loud and bright and unmissable that people forget he’s ever anything else. 

You don’t, though. You’d known him by his spirit first, untouchable and footsteps incorporeal, and know that it takes nothing for him to flicker by like a ghost. 

You would know Julian Diaz by the way air parted around him. You’d know him anywhere. 

He walks into the corridor, into your field of vision. Hair is mussed, short as it is, and eyes half lidded. Tiredness doesn’t suit him, you think, or maybe he’s just not let you see it very much. 

His looks toward the couch, first, at Flaca and Rocky and Omar, taking a few moments to check up on them. And then his gaze travels to the table, eyes widening as he takes in you and Luca. 

You look back at him, calmly. You said you’d stay, and you have. 

Julian’s body relaxes, like an exhale, and he’s sitting back in the seat beside yours in an instant. Leans his head against your shoulder, and everything is quiet except for sounds of early-morning traffic and the scribbling of Luca’s pencil.

You lean back against the contact. Check the phone - it’s six ten, and the exam’s at nine. 

Luca glances up, a few minutes later, “Hey, how do I find the value of - huh.” He blinks at Julian, who’s got his eyes closed, leaning on you. For an irrational instant, you think you’re doing something wrong, that his family aren’t _actually_ okay with him being gay. Or, maybe just him being with you. 

But it’s ridiculous. You remember Flaca, and Rocky and their unapologetic shoulders, held straight like nothing can shake them. Luca stares at you for a second, like a puzzle piece just slot into place. There’s intelligence there, one that led the kid to figuring out his brother was a ghost, letting him put together pieces so fast that secrets might as well be suggestions, in his mind. 

(It’s ridiculous how anyone could think the kid was stupid. _Ridiculous._ You’re glad that at least Luca won’t see himself like that, not with math, not anymore.)

Julian doesn’t stir as you explain how to find the value of the discriminant, and how to apply it to the question at hand. Luca nods, and goes back to scribbling practice questions.

The light steadily becomes brighter from the window near the couch. The three others are still dead asleep, but you start to feel tiredness from Luca, a faint thing, and you decide to do something about food.

“Jules,” you nudge him, earning a groan. “Luca’s gotta eat. No, it’s nothing,” you say when Luca looks up at his name, “Finish this set. We’ll handle it.”

Julian leans back and rubs his eyes, sparing a glance at you, still surprised and relaxed. After staring back at him patiently, he nods groggily, “Food.”

Julian fishes some leftover chocolate cake from the fridge, the kitchen outlet barely as wide as the length of your outstretched arms. It smells sweet, and sugary - Julian slides it into the microwave, sets the timer to a minute. 

You don’t ask about the argument. Rio’s fatigue is still palpable, but he’s in a different room now, and you assume he’s slept a little, because the buzzing radiating is far smaller than before. 

You wonder if Roderigo’s got anyone to come and wait for him outside his door. If there’s anyone except his brother and the teens he takes care of, if there’s ever time for it at all.

He’s the same age as Diego. You’ve never felt as much fatigue from your own brother as you do from Julian’s. It’s a funny parallel, and you go over it until the timer rings.

The sugary smell fills up the small apartment in the matter of a few seconds, and Luca’s already put down his pencil when Julian slides it over on the table. You take the notebook to check answers while Luca downs spoonfuls at a time. “I didn’t notice how _hungry_ I was, mierda.”

Luca’s gotten forty of the fifty questions correct. It’s an amazing improvement, given that he’s only figured out the concept a few hours ago. 

It’s six AM, and you realise blearily that nobody knows you snuck out last night. Yeesh. 

“This looks good,” you hand back the notebook. Julian blinks like he’s just noticed what’s happening. “Do the revision set, and you’ll be ready for the exam. Remember - drink the coffee in one hour, otherwise you’ll crash during the exam.”

“Yeah, got it,” Luca says, looking relaxed for the first time since you’ve met him. “I know the stuff. The test’s gonna be fine. It’ll be fine, right?”

“Of course it will,” you assure. “The practice questions are the same as the real thing. Luca, you’re prepared, alright? Just don’t fall asleep during the exam, and you’ll ace it.”

For a second, the kid looks at you like you’re some guardian angel, all open expression and gratitude. It’s unwarranted - all you’ve done is tutor him, he was smart enough to understand the subject, and you just pointed it out - so you give him a thumbs up in return.. 

You turn to Julian. “I need to get home before anyone realises I’m gone.”

“Yeah, okay,” he rests his forehead against your shoulder, like a hug without arms or movement. It’s a quiet thing, Julian trusting you enough to consider you a safe place, to call you when he needs someone on his side, and knowing you’ll have his back no matter what.

You touch the nape of his neck lightly. _I know you’re still hurting, you can tell me about it, I will still be here._

Julian moves his head away, looking you in the eye. “I know.” 

In your periphery, Luca looks between you both, like he’s trying to figure it out. You think, _it really isn’t that hard._

Julian sees you to the door, and you put your hood up as you get to the entrance of ‘Martinez and Diaz Mechanic Shop.’ As you make your way to the cemetery (no spirits anywhere) a grin comes to your face, unprompted, and lasts until you fall face-first back into bed.

Purrcaso’s next to you when you wake up, the next day. There were no dreams, but you can’t say it’s a surprise.

_Jules (18:49):_

_HI this is Luca thanks Yadriel for helping me with the test you’re the BEST and Abotts gonna be so pissed that i did well_

_hey, this is rocky. thanks for helping luca. flaca says the same_

_Thanks. - Omar_

_So they snatched my phone and wrote stuff and then deleted the messages, so if it’s anything bad, tell me (this is Julian) :P <3 te quiero_

  
  


A week later, it’s ‘training day,’ which is what everyone calls the fourth sunday of every month. It had been Abuelito who’d started it, decades ago when the brujx had only been in L.A for two generations. Abuelito had grown up here, and had been the one to jokingly call the flat field-like area near the church, ‘the training ground,’ since it was where kids were taught self-defense and brujos practiced their manoeuvres with portajes. 

Everyone was taught self-defense -- it would be stupid _not_ to, since all of the brujx could see spirits, and had to know how to protect themselves from stray malignos. Plus, everyone in the community had brujx magic in them (despite dilución de mágico) and so, when paired with adrenaline, could gain enhanced physical abilities. That meant that, when engaging in conflict, the brujx could train themselves to use more energy, to jump higher and run faster, or put more force behind their defense and punches. 

Abuelito had tried to make ‘the training ground,’ catch on. From the stories your tias and tios tell, Lita had swiftly nipped that in the bud, calling it ‘la falda, instead.’ Lita denies it with a knowing wink every time. 

(‘Training day,’ everyone knows, was a joke Catriz had started, to console his father’s feelings. Back when Enrique must have been young enough to go along with his big brother, and back when anyone cared what the man had, past the magic he didn’t.)

You and Maritza always train together to the left of the old church - both of you had always been the ‘black sheep,’ anyway. It had been instinctual, and fun, exchanging stupid barbs and trash-talking for the sake of it. Maritza has the advantage of her height and being _jacked,_ built like a tank. You’ve always been shorter, but you’re faster, too, and by now, you both know each other's sparring moves so well that there’s really no point training at all. 

Despite this, you wrap your arm in bandages anyway. Tradition is tradition, and you’ve never really expected to do anything else on these family days. Toward the middle of the field are the children, learning to dodge and protect themselves. Learning to fall, because getting back up is enough to scare off most rogue spirits. 

Further ahead, the brujos train. It’s not a single unit of men - there are the guys Diego’s age, him and André, and Miguel as well, in a group, laughing and jokingly wrestling each other. The older brujos, like your dad and uncles, stand with their arms crossed, discussing lighthearted things. ‘Training day’ is never for serious business - it’s fun. And, yeah, you hadn’t been able to be a part of the brujo group for years, which had stung. But it’s always been you and Maritza, anyway. It wasn’t an active avoidance of joining the group on your end - you just never asked, and they never offered. 

As Maritza rolls her neck, texting on her phone, Miguel calls you over. 

“Hey, Yadriel!”

You turn toward them, on the other end of the field. Miguel waves at you, and Diego nods brusquely from his side. The other brujos turn as well, but don’t react otherwise. Slowly, you wave back. 

“Aye, Patrice is _so oblivious,_ I swear,” Maritza mutters. “It’s not that hard to understand a text. One text. And I’m being _so obvious,_ Jesus.”

You look back at her, and grin like an asshole. “What, trouble in paradise?”

She shoves you, mock-annoyed. “When’d you get this sarcastic?”

“See, it all started when you agreed to make a portaje for me -”

“- You’re right, once I started helping you become a brujo, my sweet, innocent cousin Yadriel disappeared, and instead I’ve been left with _you._ “

“Like that’s an insult?”

Maritza plants her hands on her hips, the way she does when she’s going to drag someone to Xibalba and back. “Ah, I see. Diaz has been rubbing off on you. It’s all coming together now - oof, _moron,_ ” she says as you shove her, this time. 

That’s when you notice Miguel walking toward you. He’s already a few feet away, when he waves to Maritza and looks toward you. “Yadriel, hola. How are you?”

“I’m… good?”

He nods. “Good, good. Hey, how about you come and train with us today?”

Your eyes widen, slightly. This is an invitation, not ill-intentioned, because Miguel doesn’t have a single mean bone in his body. And while you know you’re a brujo, you never expected to be _one of_ the brujos. Not for simple things like this, when you’ve been labelled ‘different’ your whole life. 

Maritza makes a ‘shoo’ gesture at you, going back to her phone. (Patrice, no doubt.) You shrug at Miguel, “Sure.”

As you both walk to the other side of the field, you wonder how the brujos help each other train. Sparring with Maritza had been just that - sparring. It was fine, taking dirty shots and trying to injure, because that was the sort of thing that made them both feel safer at school. Knowing how to take someone down if you were attacked was invaluable, for people like the two of them.

Maybe brujo training was more portaje-intense, based on trying to take down malignos. Precision training, maybe? The only things you garnered from Diego and André was that they wanted their portajes to look cool. Maybe that was them being shallow, or maybe they just didn’t tell you anything because you weren’t really ‘one of the guys,’ not in their eyes.

As you approach the group, Diego tracks your movements. You don’t bother trying to figure out his reasoning, because frankly you don’t really care. Dad hasn’t noticed you approach the group, either. Whatever.

“So what we normally do is a few rounds of regular sparring, and then portaje practice.” Miguel goes on to explain how they use blunt knives instead of the real things, to avoid injury or damaging spiritual weapons. You nod, because this makes sense. 

And then Miguel asks, “Do you want to try portaje practice? You seemed pretty familiar with the basics, I think you’ll be evenly matched with most everyone.”

You nod, “Sure, sounds good,” while the pieces fall into place. This is about that cleansing you’d done, in the scrapyard. The other brujos had stared when you’d released the last few malignos, and now you realise it was because they’d underestimated your skill level. Diego’s words from that day, ‘ _you’ve not trained as much with the rest of us_ ,’ start to make sense. The fact that he’s keeping an eye on you now suggests that he’s, what, worried about you? He doesn’t need to be - you can, and _have_ taken care of yourself. 

The first round is between Miguel and André. You recognise the techniques - the dodges, jabs, blocking. It’s not the same as fighting to cut a maligno’s tether, but the precision and aim being practiced would definitely help when aiming for incorporeal golden thread.

The next match, you’re paired up with Victor - he’s a year or two older than you, and lives right next to the cemetery gates. A sudden silence falls across the field, especially near this end of it. You can feel dad’s eyes looking your way, and the other brujos waiting to see what you’re going to do.

A few of your younger cousins and older relatives are watching as well. You figure it’s because of the whole ‘he’s-like-a-god’ reputation the Catriz incident brought about. It doesn’t matter - you hadn’t thought you’d get here, accepted by the other brujos. You’re already good enough, and don’t have anything to prove to the community. Nothing will happen if you lose - you’re the youngest brujo here, and they’ve never trained with you before.

That said, you don’t intend to lose. 

It goes like this:

Victor strikes first, and you dodge. A second time, and he does it the same way, so you dodge the same. He’s going easy on you - figures. The third time he tries the same swing (Maritza would never), you step to his side, elbow the area his outstretched arm meets his shoulder, and watch as his posture falters. Victor brings his training portaje up to stab downward - the movement is telegraphed, because you’ve just hit his joint. You bring your own blade to his, and use the momentum to twist the knife out of his hand. 

Then bring the practice blade to his chest. Victor blinks, before raising his hands in surrender. 

There’s absolutely no sound from anyone as you lower the blade - a moment’s panic fills your throat. Was that bad? Are they upset that you beat Victor? It’s pure anxiety, because you’d disarmed the guy in less than a minute, and they’d _asked_ you to train with them, but you avoid meeting anyone’s eyes as you walk back to Diego’s side.

Diego rests a hand on your shoulder. There’s the urge to shake it off - the instinctual reflex to show that you’re _not_ weak, and that you can manage on your own, you don’t _need_ help. That’s just toxic masculinity speaking, but it's impossible not to feel it when you’re with the brujx, surrounded by everyone who’s seen you grow up.

But a smaller, older part of you takes immense comfort in it. Diego and you used to be close, years ago. He’d been your big brother, a protector, the coolest guy ever, and so you don’t find yourself shrugging him off immediately.

“That was, like, really good,” Diego says quietly, without looking down. People are still staring at you - with something akin to… awe? The surrounding adults are whispering, and it sounds reverent, but that can’t be right. “It’s all good stuff, don't worry.”

After the next few matches, people come up to you, gushing and asking just _how_ you’d been training that well. Maritza sidles up soon enough, elbow on your shoulder, a comfortable presence, as she jokes that the two of you have always fought way dirtier than _that,_ and a normal fight after training with Maritza for so long would be _nothing_ for her awesome brujo cousin, Yadriel.

You notice that Enrique doesn’t approach you. But every time you look his way, he turns his eyes away, like he doesn’t want you to catch him staring. A part of you is glad, because in a way, his whole condescending ‘i-don’t-want-you-to-do-brujo-work’ is null, now that you’ve shown that portaje fighting is something you know. 

But he’s your dad. You… you kind of wish he’d come around, or pat you on the back or something. You know he loves you, and that he probably _is_ proud, but it’d be nice if he could try showing it sometime. 

(You’re aware of how similar it is to Roderigo and Julian, but you’re going to choose to ignore that. You have family, and that will have to be enough.)

That night, as you finish brushing your teeth, you hear Lita talking to Lucia in the hall. Lucia’s parents live in the cemetery, so it’s fine for her to be here. She’s not directly related to your abuelita, but then again, that doesn’t really matter in their community. Brujx before blood, and all of that. 

Lita’s telling her a story that you recognise immediately. It’s the oldest one that all kids in their community know. Of how the epicentre of the afterlife and Xibalba met at a point on earth, and that wherever it moved, the brujx would follow and protect. 

“- and so we have always been nomads, nena, travelling from place to place. First, the mountains of old, before people started taking lands for their own. Then the deepest valleys, when the first wars happened. Wars create spirits in masses, and so we had to be as close to xibalba as possible, and so we touched the lowest earth, cradled their spirits as they traversed Bahlam’s maze.”

And on and on it went. Lucia began asking questions, and giggling, and Lita got sidetracked about dinner, but you knew the old story well enough. 

You remember tío - _Catriz_ telling it to you, when Camila was late at work and Dad was out releasing spirits and Diego was playing with his friends. You’d feel _wrong,_ wanting to pull out your hair (because it was too long) and burrow underground and never see anyone again, and then you’d be crying, and Catriz would find you and sit there with you, telling you stories until you could sit still without wanting to shake out of your skin.

You’d been very young. It had been a long, long time ago.

But -

(How long had he been planning it? To use the garra del jaguar to siphon Bahlam into existence? Had it been years in the making? Had he been planning it then, as well, before you were born? How would you have known, if he had? Nobody had suspected Catriz at all - and you’d thought that you knew him best, but it turns out you didn’t know him at all.) 

Like all memories of the man who used to be your tio, you think it’ll darken, and be stained by the things Catriz did before he died. That maybe, when he’d said ‘Bahlam,’ you’ll remember a hungry glint in his eye, or a hesitation, or something that will make you think that you could have seen the horrors coming. 

But there isn’t.

  
  


You’re lying on the bed, with Purrcaso at your shoulder, when the memory is allowed to come back. Tentatively, because it’s… it’s a good memory, one of your best ones, and stories aren’t to blame for the things people do.

Catriz’s voice is deep and gravelly, yet quiet, like it always had been. You close your eyes and see his hooked nose, the plug earrings and moustache. (Not his eyes. Not after he’d -)

The story is as familiar as the cemetery is. 

“- and so we touched the lowest earth, and cradled their spirits as they traversed Bahlam’s maze. And after that, after the wars, the brujx went their separate ways, for they were nomads, and without a war, they did not have anything to do.”

“And then?” you’d asked, hearing the tale for the first time.

He’d been amused. “Then we began helping people who needed healing, and protecting those who needed aid, and the place where Xibalba met the afterlife, in the lowest valleys of the lowest sands? It was empty enough, and there were no malignos, because the world was still, and quiet.”

He’d waited for your incredulity. “Then how are we _here?_ How did we come back together?”

“Because of Lady Death and Bahlam.”

“What about them?”

Catriz had whispered, as though departing a great secret that nobody knew, “They moved it. They moved worlds.”

The story goes on, to say that the two gods had gotten tired of the stagnancy of the world. They walked around, exploring, and dragging their realms with them, until the point on earth where everything converged had moved from place to place. And then the brujx had heard the call of the dead, and had followed, had set down roots for the first time since the wars. (The adults always skim over the details - maybe because the real history is too brutal, or because they’ve forgotten) but eventually, the worlds converged in Mexico, and then decades later, moved to L.A, and here the brujx were, living around their cemetery home.

You realise that Catriz was the only one who never glossed over the horrors of the story. Who acknowledged the heaviness of death (even though it didn’t matter much to the brujx) and the irresponsibility of the gods, and the brutality of the old wars.

Catriz never hesitated when explaining brutality. Maybe that should have been your warning sign.

Or maybe you’d just been a kid, too young to know anything real about the world around you, and nothing you could have said or done would have changed anything at all.

Your roll onto your side, curling up like it’s cold. Purrcaso stirs sleepily, and noses at your arms, cuddling up against your torso. She’s a warm presence, comforting, though you know that the nightmares are going to come regardless.

Eventually, you sleep.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A CHUNKY CHAPTER FOR MY LOVELY AUDIENCE!
> 
> Did you like the angst, then fluff, then angst again? I know you did, ya'll are on ao3, reading about magical gays, of course you did. Oh look, it's Yadriel's awesome yet dysfunctional family, dead and/or alive. Can't live with them, can't live without them. ;)
> 
> okay, I'll be honest: this chapter consists of a lot of the edited backlog I had saved - don't expect another update soon. yes, this story has been drafted and will not be abandoned, but also, school is a thing. I'm aiming to finish all of this fic by the end of this year (probably sooner) but I wanted to get this out there for you guys, because personally, I love family feels and this chapter was basically just that. 
> 
> Comment with what you liked! Kudos, and subscribe! I hope this chapter brings some joy to your day, and if it doesn't, well - reread cemetery boys, because that sure as hell will. :)
> 
> see you soon, 
> 
> \- EtuBrutus

**Author's Note:**

> heads up, I'm not latinx and i don't really know much about the culture, so if i've made any huge mistakes, feel free to point them out, bc those are on me.  
> I found a total of two fics in this fandom and, you know me, I wrote for hours until I had some semblance of a plot with 10k words- here's the first chapter in my multiple-chaptered Cemetery Boys fic! I hope you enjoy this as much as I loved writing it - updates should happen weekly on Mondays.
> 
> drop some kudos, and DEFINITELY subscribe - tell me what you liked in the comment section!


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